


Maybe Time Isn't On Our Side

by hope_savaria



Series: Beautiful Trauma [2]
Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Angst, Bi Angst, Bisexual Female Character, Debbie working with Claude, Depression, F/F, F/M, Homophobic Language, I swear on Sandy B's thighs that this series will end happily, Internalized Biphobia, Is there a word for picturing someone during sex with someone else?, Loneliness, Lou Miller (mentioned), POV Debbie, Pining, Pre-Canon, Pre-prison, Sadness, Songfic, Unresolved Angst, Unsatisfying Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 06:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19987993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope_savaria/pseuds/hope_savaria
Summary: "Money was good, and he was good in...the kitchen..."With Lou gone, Debbie has settled into a boring routine of simple jobs with Claude. She's desperate for something more interesting, and she's desperate for Lou to come home. Something's gotta give...





	Maybe Time Isn't On Our Side

**Author's Note:**

> P!nk: Beautiful Trauma  
> (2017)  
> Track 5 - But We Lost It
> 
> ...
> 
> They say everything is temporary  
> Who the hell are they anyways  
> I wanna know where does love go to die  
> Is it some sad empty castle in the skies?  
> Did we just shoot too high and spoil like wine?
> 
> You walked by and it's like our bodies never touch  
> No love, you hold me close, but I don't feel much  
> I cry, maybe time isn't on our side  
> We had a thing but we lost it  
> One more go, I kinda thought if we took it slow  
> It might be easier for us, yeah for us to know  
> I know we never been quite here before  
> I wish I knew it when we lost it
> 
> You used to try to wake the beast in me  
> There's still a very sleepy part of me inside  
> I've been waiting to come alive  
> You stared into my eyes and turned to stone  
> And now I'm living all alone  
> In these four walls
> 
> There's a stranger, he's lying in my bed  
> Kinda blank like the thoughts living in my head  
> This is the one that I felt that I knew so well  
> I think we had it but we lost it  
> Still the girl that you chased all around the world  
> I haven't changed, just replaced all the chains with pearls  
> I want the same things we did back then  
> I know we had it but we lost it
> 
> ...
> 
> (Summer 2011)

“How does that feel?”

“What?” Debbie asked distractedly, looking over her shoulder and raising one hand from the bedspread to sweep her hair out of her eyes. “Oh…” She moaned involuntarily as he thrust into her, trying to move her hips imperceptibly to increase the pressure where she actually needed it. “Really nice,” she said breathlessly. She kept herself balanced on one hand in order to pinch her own nipple between two fingers, searching for the sparks that she longed to feel running up and down her thighs. She _wanted_ this, Debbie reminded herself. Claude was attractive, and – more importantly – she was attracted _to_ him. She pulled hard on her nipple and closed her eyes, trying to picture what he was doing behind her, but even the image of his cock dripping with her own arousal seemed only mildly interesting rather than stimulating. Debbie groaned in frustration and hoped he would interpret it as some sort of validation. It truly wasn’t his fault. He was good in bed, especially when she took control, but sometimes that got exhausting and boring, and now here she was on her hands and knees being fucked into a mattress and feeling…well, not much of anything really. Another disappointment.

 _You wish it was Lou fucking you_ , a voice in her head taunted. Debbie squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the rush of wetness she felt between her legs at the thought of her.

 _No_ , she said firmly to the voice in her head, _It’s not that_.

 _Yes, it is_ , the voice persisted. _Go on, picture_ her _instead. Think of her strap inside you, her fingers in your hair, her mouth on your neck—_

 _No!_ Debbie insisted. “Fuck,” she said aloud, moving her hand down her own body and between her legs. Somewhat to her relief, Claude seemed to assume that her curse indicated an orgasm, and she felt his fingers dig into her hips as he stilled inside her. She sighed when he pulled out of her and rolled to the side to dispose of the condom. With his back turned, Debbie surreptitiously swiped her fingers once through the slickness between her thighs just to relieve the pressure that had passively built in her unsatisfied nerves. She would have to take care of that herself later, which only meant more time trying to think of anyone but Lou.

Running jobs with Claude – and fucking Claude – had worked for over a year now to keep Debbie’s mind occupied. It had also meant she was consistently making enough money for rent – plus some to maintain her designer wardrobe – and was keeping her mind sharp without having to spend all of her time plotting far-fetched schemes and contingencies and escape routes. It was relaxing. Maybe _too_ relaxing, she thought. Boring, now. Foolishly, she had thought that maybe she could fall for Claude just a little – just for a while until Lou came home. But Lou had been gone for three years now, and Debbie was bored of both Claude and his jobs. A more desperate part of herself had hoped that she would _really_ fall for him – fall in _love_ with him. That would make things easier. It would certainly please _him_ , and maybe that was the problem. Every time she thought she might be close – might be feeling something real – he would say something smug about turning her straight, and the feelings would vanish as quickly as they had come, no matter how tightly the self-loathing part of herself tried to hold onto them.

“You’re good for me,” Claude said, settling next to her on the pillows and running a hand over her chest. Debbie played along, arching her back into the touch as he thumbed over her nipples and humming a response to his words. “Will you stay?” he asked after a moment, continuing the gentle stroking of her body.

Debbie smiled but shook her head, though she didn’t yet make any move to get up. “Not tonight. I’m waiting on a call from Danny early tomorrow morning.”

Claude narrowed his eyes and paused his movements. His hand rested possessively against her ribs, and Debbie suddenly felt both cornered and isolated. “Does he have something in mind for you?” he asked.

“No,” Debbie said evenly. “He just wants to catch up, and with the time difference…well, it was the only time that worked.” _Would it be a problem if Danny had a job for me_? Debbie wondered privately, but she didn’t ask. If Danny offered her something, she would consider it, and that wasn’t Claude’s business. It wasn’t as if they were actually _dating_ or something; she had given up on trying to cultivate those feelings. As far as she was concerned, they were business partners who fucked, because – she reflected a little wistfully – that was really the only relationship she knew how to have. 

“Where is he?” Claude asked.

“Danny?” Debbie shrugged and pushed herself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, looking around to locate her discarded clothing. “You’re asking the wrong person.” Debbie slipped her thong around her ankles and stood up to pull it on. Her bra was draped over a chair in the corner along with her other clothing, and she walked over to it with Claude’s eyes following the sway of her hips.

“You’re still the hottest dyke I’ve ever seen,” Claude said, a touch of humor in his voice.

Debbie was glad her face was hidden in her shirt as she winced at the words and then at herself for going back to him over and over again even after comments like that, for never defending herself even when he made her blood boil. It was all a _game_ , after all, wasn’t it? She didn’t need to care about him or his bigotry in order to get her money, an easy fuck, and a few meals that didn’t come from boxes or take-out menus. It wasn’t how it should be, she knew that, not if they were a _real_ couple. She couldn’t do this forever, but for now, he was the easiest and safest option. Besides, she knew how to get away from him the second Lou came home – _that_ was the part that really mattered. He was far too transparent to scare her, even with all his bragging and bluster about the people he had framed. She doubted it was really true. 

Now fully dressed, Debbie crossed back to the bed and let him pull her down into a kiss. She stroked his inner thigh as they broke apart and fixed a warm smile on her face. “I can stay over the weekend, okay?” she said softly, “there’s a show on Saturday isn’t there?”

He hummed an affirmation. “Wear something nice,” he murmured.

Debbie trailed her fingers upwards, just grazing the side of his cock. “I always do,” she said. She swiped once over what she knew to be his most sensitive skin and then backed away before he could reach up and pull her back into bed.

“Tease,” he groaned.

“I’ll see you Friday night,” she replied with a smirk, already half-way out the door.

**

At this time of night, it took a solid hour to get from Claude’s apartment off of Washington Square all the way back to her place in Brooklyn, but Debbie savored the trip. The bustling crowds allowed her to lose herself, to pick a few pockets just to remind herself she was still a criminal in her own right. It wasn’t late, and she considered stopping for a drink or some food, but the quietude of her own apartment was too tempting. By the time she reached it, she was practically running – taking the stairs two at a time, fleeing from something she couldn’t see or explain.

Debbie didn’t break stride as she set her purse in the kitchen and headed directly for the bathroom. She started the shower and let the water warm up while she undressed. The smell of Claude’s cologne on her clothes made her feel sick, and she shuddered when she felt her thong tug slightly as she pulled it off, still sticky from whatever was left from earlier. Why did he make her feel this way? She didn’t particularly _like_ him, but she didn’t _hate_ him. The jobs he ran were simple and elegant, and she admired them, even if they were becoming dull. Debbie stepped into the shower and let the hot water pound against her scalp, hoping it would sort out some of her thoughts.

_You tried to think of Lou. You think of her every time he fucks you._

_I don’t_ , she pleaded with herself _, Not_ every _time._ But lately it _had_ been every time, even when she truly _wanted_ to make him feel good. Last week there had been an adrenaline-filled evening when they both thought the Feds might have caught their scent, but Claude had smoothed it over, and Debbie had felt her mouth go dry and her blood sing as she watched him in action. Oh, she had _burned_ for him. They had barely stumbled through his apartment door before she had pushed him against a wall and knelt in front of him, tugging at the zipper of his pants with her teeth. For maybe fifteen minutes, it had all been heat and electricity. She had spread herself on his dining room table and coaxed his head between her legs as he returned the favor, but then the fire in her had sputtered to ash as quickly as it had come. She had still _wanted_ to want him. Her whole body had ached to rediscover the blaze that had been so present only moments before, but it didn’t return, not until she had – as a last resort – thought of her fingers curling into platinum blonde hair and of Lou’s talented tongue. She had seen stars when she came, stars that reflected in the blue eyes still visible in her imagination.

Even though the night was warm, Debbie felt cold, and she turned up the temperature of the shower as far as it would go, hoping it would sterilize both her body and her soul. Did it really _matter_ if she pictured Lou when Claude fucked her? Debbie wanted to think that it didn’t, wanted to say that it served him right for the way lust bloomed in his eyes when he thought of her with other women. But it _did_ matter. To her. It mattered because Lou was gone. It mattered because Lou hadn’t called. It mattered because maybe – just _maybe_ – Lou wasn’t coming back. Debbie raised a shaking hand to her mouth and tried to calm her racing heart. _No. Lou promised_ , she reminded herself, _she promised._ She tucked her other arm around herself, digging her fingers into her ribcage until her nails nearly broke the skin. _She’s coming back._

It took Debbie a long time to realize that the water had turned cold. She shivered as she finally stepped out of the shower and looked at her bedraggled reflection in the mirror. She hadn’t bothered to remove her makeup before the shower, and it was smeared under her eyes in a perfect image of how she felt. She smiled humorlessly at her reflection and brushed her teeth perfunctorily, wanting nothing more than to skip whatever time was left between now and the moment Lou returned, whenever that was. Two months, two years – it didn’t matter as long as she could hold her again. 

_Call her_ , the voice in Debbie’s head advised. _Just call her. Call Lou. Tell her you miss her. Ask her to come home._ But she knew she wouldn’t.

**

The buzzing of her phone awakened Debbie out of a deep sleep. In her sleep-ridden confusion, she inexplicably hoped that it might be Lou. She had fallen asleep thinking about her, about holding her close in this very bed, about the rhythm of her breath. She fumbled with the screen of the phone, trying to identify the unknown number.

“Lou,” she gasped, unable to resist her hope as she answered the call. 

“Well, that answers my first question,” Danny’s voice said humorlessly, distant and staticky on the other end of the line.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Debbie swore in reply, driving the heel of her hand into her forehead. Her preoccupations of the night before had driven Danny’s scheduled phone call from her mind. 

“So, you’re still hung up on her, then?” he said coolly.

“I’ll hang up on _you,_ ” she retorted, “if you insist on having this conversation.”

“Fine,” he said, and she knew he was smirking around the word. “How’s Claude?”

“He’s…fine…I guess.” Debbie didn’t want to talk about Claude either.

“Are you still working together?”

“Yeah. The money’s decent.”

“Is _he_ decent?” Danny asked, once again through that wretched smirk.

“Most of the time,” Debbi said coldly.

“Are you living with him?”

“ _God_ , no,” Debbie replied, “Why would I do that?”

“You lived with Lou.”

“Do you have a point, Danny? Because I _will_ hang up.”

“You should call her,” he persisted.

“Fuck off. You’re the one who told me to give Claude a chance, that maybe I ‘just hadn’t found the right man.’ Isn’t that what you said?” She felt her voice rising, but she didn’t hang up.

Danny was silent. She could feel his regret running through the phone. “That was ages ago, Debs,” he said finally. “Before I knew you and Lou…” He trailed off and sighed.

 _What do you know, Danny? Tell me, because I_ don’t _know. Lou and I…_

“Well,” he continued after a moment, “you’re clearly unhappy without her around.”

Debbie sighed and squeezed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and the knuckle of her forefinger. “I’m just _bored_ , Danny.”

“Ask Claude to mix things up,” he suggested.

“Gross,” Debbie admonished, “That’s not what I meant. I don’t need sex tips from you…or anyone else.”

“Except maybe _Lou_ ,” he retorted, snickering. “But that’s not what I was referring to, Debs, although it’s good to know what’s on your mind. I was talking about the jobs. Ask him if you can play a more active role. You’re smarter than him.”

“Smarter than you, too, Danny, but when have you ever backed down?”

“Touché,” he replied. Debbie took it as a compliment.

“You coming home any time soon?” Debbie asked in a softer voice.

“Not really sure. You don’t miss me, do you?”

“Of course not,” she said, but she knew that _he_ knew that she did. “So, why did you need to talk in the first place? Do you know how fucking early—”

“I missed you.”

“Oh.” So, they were doing honesty now? This was new. “I…uh…” she trailed off.

“It’s nice to know the feeling’s mutual,” he said, sounding sincere.

She laughed briefly. “Yeah…uh…of course.” They lapsed into silence for a moment, but Debbie pressed the phone into her ear so hard that she could have sworn she could hear Danny’s breath. “Claude asks about you, about what you’re doing.”

“He doesn't deserve to know, not unless I need him for something.”

“I know.”

“Give him my best.”

“Oh, I will,” Debbie said with a snort of laughter.

“Ask him about branching out.”

“I…might.” She would have to think about it. 

“And call Lou.”

Debbie closed her eyes and shook her head, even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “Bye, asshole,” she said affectionately, “Love you.”

“Love you, too, Debs…and…uh…Happy Birthday.”

There was a click and a beep that told Debbie he had hung up. She stared at the phone for a minute and then threw both it and herself back onto the bed, face hidden in pillows. She lay completely still, wondering if – _when_ – Lou got back, how she would even recognize the woman Debbie had become. It wasn’t as if Debbie cared about her birthday, but she usually tracked dates well enough to mark its passing with a vague and figurative salute. Lou used to buy her ice cream – every year, without fail. She had seen a little kid eating an ice cream cone on this day three years ago – her first birthday without Lou – and Debbie was quite sure she had never cried so hard in her entire life. The Debbie Ocean that Lou knew was observant to a fault. The Debbie Ocean that Lou knew would be able to remember the type of ice cream she chose on each of her birthdays with Lou, as well as each type of perfume she bought – actually _bought_ – every year for Lou’s birthday. The Debbie Ocean that Lou knew would have realized why Danny wanted to call on this particular day, and she would have teased him for it, but she also would have been ready to pick up the phone when it rang. She was distracted again; she was letting her mind wander. It had to be stopped.

**

“Let me do more for you.” Debbie floated the words across the table to Claude over breakfast on Sunday morning. They had run a very simple and shockingly lucrative hustle the night before and ended up selling a piece for more than three times its actual worth. The sex afterwards had been explosive, mostly because Debbie had stopped trying to keep Lou out of her head. Instead, she let every part of Lou fill her mind until it felt as though the sight was tearing her apart piece by piece.

Claude sipped an espresso and leaned back in his chair. “What are you thinking?”

Debbie tilted her head, trying to look curious and innocent rather than bored and desperate. “You tell me.”

“There might be something coming up that would interest you,” he said. “Might need us to switch roles to appease a certain customer at the end of autumn or the start of the new year.”

Debbie’s heart sank. The end of autumn was _months_ away, and she wasn’t sure she could last that long on a diet of emotionally exhausting fucking and pretending to be an art critic. It was all she had, though – unless Lou came back, and then it wouldn’t matter either way. _Fake it until you make it, Ocean_ , she told herself. “Sounds perfect,” she said aloud with a glowing smile. “Who’s the customer?”

“I’m working on that part,” he said with a smile.

She hummed false interest. “Mysterious.”

“Perhaps,” he said, leaning across the table towards her to swipe a toast crumb from the corner of her lip. He hesitated for a moment and then slipped his finger into her mouth. She sucked on it with feigned eagerness. “But,” he continued, sliding his finger from her mouth to lightly caress her jaw. “I think you’re just the woman for the job.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the song (with *all* the lyrics): 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=46dH8f-ycjw
> 
> ***
> 
> OK SO it was very unintentional to end up posting this super depressing birthday fic on Sandra Bullock's actual birthday. Whoops. Anyway, happy birthday, Sandy! <3
> 
> TBH this is my favorite song from this album and somehow I ended up writing something incredibly dark for it. Some of the lyrics feel like they apply to Debbie's feelings about Claude, while some of them feel like they apply to her feelings about Lou, and I like that ambiguity. Also, this story sort of sets up a later fic in this series in which Debbie's going to start processing what happened with Claude, and I *promise* she will triumph and be the bisexual queen we all deserve. 
> 
> ***
> 
> Series Note:
> 
> There will be 13 fics in this series, so please please subscribe to the series (rather than to the individual fics). I am posting the stories chronologically as they fall in Debbie and Lou's timeline, rather than in the track order from the album. New ones will be posted every Friday. There will be pre-canon, movie timeline, and post-canon stuff, and it all fits in with my Loubbie headcanon from my other pieces. I can ONE HUNDRED PERCENT PROMISE that the series will end happily. 
> 
> ***
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who reads my work. I love your comments so so much, and I save all of them to read when I need a pick-me-up. Many thanks to go_get_your_top_hat (I love you). 
> 
> Kudos and comments make me smile! :) <3


End file.
